WHY-KEY-KEY?
Dear Diary,
Nothing like sitting around the table in the communal dining room chewing the fat (chunks of it) with Ruth and a few of her closest gal pals. Today it was me, Selma, Virginia, Greta and Faye bonding over some sort of HEN in a faux dairy base with an exotic name..(Alvarez? Alcatraz?). This of course being part of the marketing plan, to lead this group of Alzheimer’s patients into thinking they are really in a land of mystery and intrigue. This ploy didn’t fool Ruth who grabbed the spoon and started fishing for the chunks of sodium free, dairy-less, perhaps meat-less, poultry all the while exclaiming..LOOKS LIKE CHICKEN TO ME. Can’t fool that Ruth.
By the looks of things, previously mentioned ethnic cuisine was NOT a hit, but the Moose au chocolate caused a stampede to the dessert table. Ruth wanted to wrap hers up in a napkin and put it in her “bag” for later. Two problems with this idea:
1. How do you wrap up a PUDDING?
2. Ruth doesn’t carry a BAG.
Think fast dear girl because YOU know what’s coming. Now Ruth’s shouting loud enough for our whole table to hear.. what do you mean I don’t have a bag? She is incredulous. Oh n-o-o-o-o! I couldn’t be lucky enough to have it stop there..THAT would be too EASY. I thought I brought my bag with me to THIS table. Where the heck did it go? B-L-A-H-H-H-H! This is NOT a good sign when we utter the words “WHERE DID IT GO?” It’s in these simple words uttered, that I always succumb to the trap of engagement. Rule number one my sweet, innocent, Sandwich Generation NEWBIES, NEVER EVER SUCCUMB.
This eldercare thing is NOT for those slow on their feet! It’s a THINKING MANS (oh sure, THAT will be the day) game. I wasn’t in it to WIN it today and for THAT I will be PUNISHED. Selma who had been quietly watching our little exchange decides to be helpful. “Well, I’ll drive you home and we can look for your bag there..let’s see.” Selma looks inside HER (empty) purse, obviously becoming more and more agitated by the second as she ruffles through air. I begin my internal countdown to all hell breaking loose..3,2,1.. WHERE ARE MY KEYS? We have lift-off!
Faye? Do you have anything to add to this discussion?
Greta where’s your purse? (might as well go ALL the WAY)
RUTH: OMG! I had MY keys in my purse…
When in doubt use distraction and I don’t mean the old, WHAT’S THAT OVER THERE? Tell a story–it’s the old bait and switch but used for GOOD never for EVIL. I just so happened to have a true story in my repertoire.
On the way to Ruth’s for lunch I was stopped at a red light and I was just kind of hangin’ out, mentally tallying up my caloric intake for the day, trying to asses how many calories are in just the frosting part of the pumpkin scone I had for breakfast. THUNK! I’m hit from behind by CELL PHONE TALKER GIRL, who makes ME get out of MY car to come over to HER. She says to me “s-o-r-r-y.. I forgot which was the gas pedal and which was the brake! How LAME is THAT?
Ruth looks up at me lost in..thought and says after a brief knowing nod,”Yeah, that’s WHY I quit.”
Mother-Girlfriends of MY SANDWICH GENERATION remember age should NOT always be a factor in the decision to take away the keys to your elderly’s car. Try this test..Put your bound and gagged husband in the up-right position, in the back seat of your seniors vehicle. Next, have granny take him for a spin…any freeway will do. Allow your husband to make the final call..he will feel so needed and appreciate you involving him in these large, life altering decisions– a true ego boost to be sure.
Me? Putting pedal to the metal..
A
